


Ask and Ye Shall Receive

by Magnetism_bind



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Biting, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Restraints, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis gets himself into trouble again. This time Porthos doesn't know if he wants to help or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ask and Ye Shall Receive

“So, instead of helping you, they ran off the moment they saw what was happening?” Porthos is merely asking the sensible question. Someone has to ask it, and he’s the only one here.

Aramis sighs in response. “What can I say? They were easily shocked.” He sounds petulant, as though he can’t imagine what anyone would find surprising in this situation.

Porthos surveys the scene with an air of resignation. It is not the first time he has seen such a scenario nor, he suspects, is it likely to be the last. Not with how Aramis goes through life.

His best friend, his closest companion, his Aramis.

…Who is currently bound to a bed by his wrists, completely naked, save for a leather collar circling his cock. Now it’s Porthos’s time to sigh. This is his Aramis all right. It is no secret Aramis finds arousal in such scenarios. Porthos knows this better than anyone. He only wishes sometimes that Aramis would be a tad more discreet about it.

“And where is the countess?” He glances around the bed chamber, not truly expecting to see her, but merely making a show of it.

“She had an early appointment.” Aramis tugs slightly at one wrist. “She was supposed to return shortly before it was time for me to meet you.” His eyes lighten with amusement, “However I was pleased to see you were punctual as ever.”

“Why couldn’t you have just bedded her and left?” Porthos grumbles. “Why did you have to do this?” He doesn’t have a word for this. There’s a whip draped over the end of the bed. Porthos’s eyes fixate on it. Has it been used, or was the countess planning to do so when she returned?

“The countess and I enjoyed a variety of delights last night.” Aramis pulls lightly at the restraints still binding him to the bed. “Even if the common man does not understand-”

“Shut up.” Porthos walks around the bed. It’s clear that this is at the end of a long night of debauchery. The room stinks. It is also more than obvious Aramis has already found his release. His cock is soft, nestled amongst the dark curls at his groin. Aramis’s hair is tousled, his clothes strewn about the floor. There are marks upon his chest and thighs, evidence of the night’s activities. Marks that should not make Porthos’s heart beat faster. She has used the whip then.

He’s seen Aramis naked before. This is nothing new. But the lengths to which Aramis will put himself in danger for mere satisfaction is appalling to Porthos. It’s easy enough to find pleasure in a city the size of Paris, doubly easy for a king’s musketeer. Why then does Aramis do this? Why does he put Porthos through this?

“Porthos.” Aramis tugs at the restraint. “Release me already.”

“And what of next time?” Porthos inquires. “Supposing the countess’s husband had been the one to return and find you like this.” No doubt there will be stories told. Gossip spreading through the streets of Paris like plague, passing greedily from tavern to tavern. Aramis will laugh it off, caring nothing for his reputation. It’s Porthos whose hand will go to his sword every time he hears lewd remarks against his friend. Aramis’s reputation is that of a cavalier, a seducer, a charmer, but what of this? What will this do to him? Will it have any effect at all? He needs to be taught a lesson.

Porthos looks again at the whip.

“He’s in Rome.” Aramis tugs harder at the restraints. “And the servants have been paid off.” He wags his finger at Porthos. “I know what you’re worried about, Porthos. What does it matter?”

“You’re not bothered by this?” Porthos gestures.

Aramis shrugs. “As I said, if the common man does not understand, those who have been-“

He stops as Porthos picks up the whip. The handle is smooth to his touch. The falls are soft, brushing back and forth over his palm. He imagines the feel of it on bare skin. On Aramis’s bare skin.

There’s a look in his eyes that makes Aramis’s cock twitch in an excited manner. “Why, Porthos.”

“Does she gag you when she whips you?” Porthos tests the fall of the switch. “Or does she want to hear you?” He can see the appeal of both.

Aramis licks his lips. “Sometimes one, sometimes the other.”

Porthos can’t get it out of his head. The elegant countess wielding the whip, bringing it down upon Aramis’s skin. Making Aramis writhe and sweat and beg. It’s the last that makes Porthos harden. To hear Aramis beg would be sweet indeed.

He lets the whip brush back and forth over his palm, testing it. Aramis’s eyes follow the motion. It’s hypnotic, tantalizing, promising…

“Does she ever tie you on your stomach or does she always whip your chest? Your thighs?” He lifts it, trailing the whip over Aramis’s chest, watching his nipples stiffen. “Your cock?”

Aramis swallows. “It depends on what she’s in the mood for.”

Porthos can picture that too. Aramis’s chest is beautiful, the light hair dancing over his chest, his dark nipples, and the scars… God, Porthos knows those scars. He knows each and every one. He has nursed Aramis through his injuries, just as Aramis has done the same for him.

He wants to whip Aramis until he begs. The realization is hot in Porthos’s hands, leaving him breathless and hard. But if he turns Aramis over on his stomach, he has to untie him….and if he unties him, he’ll lose this chance. As much as Aramis wants this, he’ll weasel his way out of it once he’s free.

Then there’s the matter of Aramis’s cock. Porthos trails the whip downward, brushing it ever so lightly over Aramis’s groin. Aramis gasps.

“Porthos.”

It’s not begging, but it’s a good start. Porthos does it again, watching the way Aramis’s cock twitch. Heat rises to his cheeks. His thighs tremble. “Porthos.”

Porthos does it again, and then snaps the whip down on Aramis’s thigh, first his left one. Aramis cries out. His cock throbs. Porthos does it again, this time on the right. Aramis jerks in his restraints, chest heaving. His cock is reddened, leaking.

“In the name of god, Porthos.”

This is better. This is Aramis at his most base, desire sweet in its simplicity. Porthos brings the whip down again, this time on his lower stomach. Aramis cries out.

“Porthos. Porthos.”

Porthos ignores him. Instead he strikes Aramis upon the thighs, and then his chest, provoking his nipples into hard, desperate nubs. Aramis’s chest is taut, his cock straining against the collar holding it prisoner. His breath is shallow and needy. His eyes are dark pools of desire as he gazes up at Porthos. His thighs are warmed and reddened, his chest heaving. The sight makes Porthos’s head swim. What would it be like to have Aramis over his lap, to strike him until his backside was crimson, and Aramis produced that gasping, needy noise as he pressed against Porthos’s thighs.

He wants this, he wants Aramis.

“Porthos.” Aramis whispers.

He drops the whip and places a hand above Aramis’s cock.

“Porthos, please.”

“You want this?” Porthos gazes at his cock, his fingers stroking down over the collared shaft. He can feel the heat through the leather band.

“Give it to me.” Aramis tells him.

Porthos undoes the lacing, freeing his cock. Aramis utters a low moan as he strokes him from base to tip. Porthos thumbs the head, squeezing it lightly, watching Aramis struggle to control himself. Porthos takes his hand away to spit in his palm. Aramis’s eyes slit even darker.

Porthos strokes him, watching Aramis’s face. He loves the weight of him in his hand. He wants to make it last as long as he can. But the hour is already waning, and soon the countess and her servants will return. He tightens his grip, making his strokes shorter and sweeter. Aramis utters a cry to God, the heavens, and last of all Porthos, and spills over his hand.

Aramis sighs, slumping back against the bed. He smiles up at Porthos. “You better untie me before I surrender to sleep as well.”

Porthos merely shakes his head, chuckling, as he undoes the restraints. He wants to lay a kiss on Aramis’s wrists, but instead he steps back. “You should get dressed.”

For one so recently sated twice over, Aramis moves surprisingly quickly. Porthos leans against the dresser, watching him dress. Aramis sets his hat upon his head and examines his moustache in the mirror before turning to Porthos. “Come, Porthos. It is high time we be on our way.” He goes out of the room, whistling. Porthos follows with a sigh.

 *  *  *

Their horses are waiting in the courtyard, no sign of the scandalized servants. It’s just as well. Porthos is relieved not to have to speak with anyone before they depart. They mount and turn back to Paris.

All the same he glances back at the estate, taking one last look at it. Peaceful, quiet, a fantasy. He will remember it well.

Aramis eyes him. “What are you staring at? Tis a fine estate, but nothing compared to the countess of Vitry’s summer home.”

“I suppose you’ve had much better than you had back there.” Porthos scowls. He knows Aramis’s score of lovers. They vary between nobility, to ladies’ maids, to mistresses, to wives….to anyone that catches Aramis’s eye.

They pick up their pace a little, and Aramis shifts uncomfortably in his saddle, muttering under his breath.

“Something troubling you?” Porthos inquires.

“I’ll be glad to get back to my rooms.” Aramis confesses. “The countess wields a pretty strap.”

“Hopefully it taught you a lesson.” Porthos’s grip on his reins tightens.

Aramis looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Something troubling you?”

“The next time your paramour leaves you tied, send for one of the others.”

Aramis makes a face. “Athos is no good in these situations. He merely asks what was I thinking.” He mimics Athos’ tone so well Porthos wants to laugh, but resists.

Porthos has little inclination to ask such a question. He knows all too well what Aramis was thinking. He always thinks with both cock and wit, as though the two went go in hand for him.

Aramis starts whistling again. He seems merry enough. Whatever happens to Aramis, he takes it in his stride, and makes it seem as though it were his plan all along.

Porthos is weary of it. He nudges his heels to his horse and rides ahead.

“Porthos?”

He can hear Aramis calling after him. There will be questions, but for once Porthos has no wish to answer of them. He rides through the streets of Paris, ducking and dodging until he’s certain that he lost Aramis. Only then does he turn his horse towards a familiar tavern.

* * *

He’s drunk approximately two jugs of wine, and it’s still not enough when Aramis appears at his side.

“Well,” Aramis takes his time removing his gloves, “I suppose you had a good reason for your behavior back there.” His movements are quick and elegant. Porthos has always admired his hands.

“Well?” Aramis says again.

It occurs to Porthos that he expects an answer. He opens his mouth, and all that escapes is a belch of monumental definitions. He’s rather proud of it.

Aramis sighs. “Really Porthos. This attitude is most unbecoming.”

Porthos stands. With both hands he upends the table and sends it flying across the room. There is a splintering sound as the wood cracks. The tavern is abruptly silent as the onlookers stare at the musketeers.

“Porthos.” Aramis is warning him.

“Shut your mouth,” Porthos growls. If he has to do this here, then maybe it’s just as well. Maybe this time Aramis will think about his actions.

He backs Aramis up against another table, thrusting him down upon it. Aramis doesn’t protest, watching him to see where this is going. Porthos ignores the stares and the whispers of the people around them. He keeps his focus where it belongs, upon Aramis.

“You were mine back there, to do with as I pleased,” He gazes down at Aramis, “Was that not obvious?”

“And you liked that?”

“It wasn’t just that.” Porthos struggles to explain. “It was knowing I could give you that, instead of all the others…” It’s not enough but he doesn’t know what else to say.

Aramis’s eyes have darkened. There’s a stirring against Porthos’s thigh. He glances down in surprise. 

“Porthos,” Aramis’s voice is steady. “Let me up.”

“And then what?” Porthos is no fool, but he has been foolish. He’s no better than Aramis. He should have thought before he acted back at the villa, but he hadn’t been able to resist Aramis like that. Even now the memory of Aramis’s pleasure at his touch warms him.

“Let me up.” Aramis says through gritted teeth.

Porthos steps back. Aramis straightens up and adjusts the hat atop his head. He smiles charmingly at the crowd. “Apologies for the disruption, ladies and gentlemen. It will not happen again.” He sets a few coins upon the table and heads for the door.

Once out in the street Aramis pauses. He turns to look at Porthos, clearly waiting for him to speak more. But now Porthos is at a loss. He hesitates, and then Aramis is stalking ahead of him. Porthos sighs and follows.

 *  *  *

They make their back to Aramis’s rooms in silence. Aramis is still waiting for him to speak and Porthos is still confused about what more there is to say.

Aramis removes his hat and reaches for a bottle of wine. Porthos watches as he pours himself a glass.

“All you had to do was speak.” Aramis says in a quiet voice. He takes a sip of wine.  "A simple request, Porthos. That's all it would have taken."

Porthos scoffs at the suggestion. “What, say something like, “Aramis, let me tan your backside till you scream?” He’s mocking but Aramis turns to look at him.

“One hopes you’d be a tad more eloquent, but yes.”

Porthos stares at him incredulously. “I thought.” He’s not sure what he thought. He only knows he never knew that he could simply ask for this.

“Damn you, come here.” Aramis reaches for him. His hand rests on Porthos’s chest, and then Aramis touches his cheek. Porthos leans into that caress, closing his eyes as he presses his lips to Aramis’s palm.

They tumble across the bed in a tangle of limbs. Porthos kisses his way from Aramis’s face to his belly, tugging Aramis’s shirt free from his breeches. “Take your clothes off.”

It’s a test, to see he truly can ask.

Aramis undresses in silence, letting Porthos gaze his fill upon him. The marks left by the countess have blended beautifully with the ones he left this morning. It seems a long time ago.

Porthos is quicker to disrobe, half convinced that this will all turn out to be a dream. Having disposed of his clothes he looks around Aramis’s room until he finds what he’s looking for. Aramis smiles as he takes up the small jar of oil and brings it over to the bed.

For a while he leaves it, kissing Aramis's chest and shoulders. Porthos teases his nipples until Aramis grows impatient, pressing his body against Porthos's in an unmistakable invitation.  Only then does Porthos reach for the oil.

“Spread your legs.” Porthos commands. 

Aramis is silent at first as Porthos slips slicked fingers inside him, and then he sucks in a sharp breath. “God’s teeth, Porthos.”

Porthos bites his neck, loving the way Aramis shudders in response. He removes his fingers and tugs Aramis up on his knees. Aramis gasps as Porthos draws him down upon his cock. His hands clasp Porthos’s neck as he kisses him.

Porthos's fingers dig into Aramis’s ass, making him moan. Porthos thrusts into him, holding him, gripping him fiercely. Aramis’s beard tickles his cheek and he wants to laugh at the sensation.

They fall backward again and Porthos takes his time again, sliding back into him.

There are no words, they move together in silent, hungry rhythm. Aramis wraps his legs around Porthos’s hips, drawing him closer until their skin is melded together. Porthos doesn’t want it to end so quickly. He could last like this forever, moving in time with Aramis.

He urges Aramis up on his knees once more, wanting them on equal ground as it were. He wants to look into Aramis’s eyes.

Aramis leans in, chest pressed against Porthos’s. Porthos grips his backside, grips Aramis’s hair, grips Aramis, never wanting to let go.

“Come for me.” He breathes into Aramis’s shoulder as Aramis kisses his face, his beard, his throat, saving his mouth for last. 

“Porthos.” Aramis cries out again as Porthos grasps him harder, sinking his teeth once more into Aramis’s neck. With another cry he spills, his release caught between their two bodies.

Aramis’s chest sticks to his, damp with sweat. Porthos cradles his face in his hands and kisses him once more on the lips. Only then does he let himself slip free.

Aramis hisses as he lowers himself to the bed. “Between the both of you I will be sore for a week.”

Porthos might have felt a smidgen of regret, but for the smug sounding tone of Aramis’s voice. He’s pleased about this, which in turn pleases Porthos.

“Come, lie down.” Aramis draws Porthos down beside him before he even has a chance to fetch a cloth to clean them off. That can wait. They lie there together, Aramis's hand resting contentedly on Porthos's chest. 

“I had not realized the extent of your jealousy.” Aramis’s voice is lazy, sated. It both pains and warms Porthos’s heart that he knows his friend so well that he can identify the way Aramis sounds when he’s drifting off to sleep after being thoroughly fucked.

“It’s not jealousy.” Porthos rests a hand on Aramis’s hip, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Aramis opens one eye.

“Not just jealousy.” Porthos amends, for he is jealous. Jealous of the women Aramis courts and woos and beds, and jealous of the men he smiles at and drinks and flirts with. He is jealous because they do not understand that time spent with Aramis is precious.

“I’m not asking you to give up your seductions.” He would never do that. He could never do that, even if that were what he wanted. Aramis would not be Aramis, if he did not have half a dozen lovers in rotation. “I’m merely asking that you be more careful.”

There’s silence, just the sound of Aramis breathing. He has fallen asleep after all. Porthos sighs.

“I could not bear to lose you.” He lets his lips brush Aramis’s shoulder.

Aramis places his hand on Porthos’s chest. “And you won’t.” He opens his eyes and gazes up at Porthos. “You never will.”

It’s a foolish promise, but Porthos believes it to be true. For in this moment, Aramis is true, and he will take it. He brings Aramis’s hand to his lips.


End file.
